


Fever

by BeBunny



Series: All bets are off [4]
Category: Captain America (2011), The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - All Fandoms
Genre: First Time, Hand Jobs, Multi, Sickfic, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-06 13:19:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/419353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeBunny/pseuds/BeBunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He’s been a few days in medical,” Coulson says, handing Steve a file that not even Clint has seen. He makes grabby hands, but they both ignore him. “I’m sorry to have to carry him up here but he refused a wheelchair. I’d have left him there but we all know he’d go crazy in the ward and really he’s been given the all clear for home recovery. I’m under strict instructions not to confine him at the hospital unless he’s actually unconscious.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>In which Clint is home sick and Steve takes care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fever

**Author's Note:**

> Eventually I was going to have to get Clint and Steve to face certain things...
> 
> This is part four of the 'All bets are off' series, in which Clint and Natasha are in an established relationship and Steve is mostly confused. He's beginning to find his feet though!   
> The series does benefit from being read in order. 
> 
> Note: There's a passing mention of torture in Clint's past. No details though. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your continued support and encouragement for this series, I can't begin to express how much fun I'm having!

The problem with insurgents, Clint thinks to himself as his knees fall steadily and completely asleep, is that they make a camp, then stay there. So often that equates to him sitting motionless in his nest while he waits. What he waits for varies from assignment to assignment of course. Whether it’s the split second chance to prevent an exchange between two villainous superpowers or simply the long and protracted surveillance of a weapons depot. 

This mission has been a little of both, a short stint in a modest hotel in Madrid while Coulson and a team of hackers bugged phone lines and watched CCTV feeds across the city. They’d initially bought Clint as insurance, in case the mark made a move. They’d hit the jackpot instead, a careless remark on an insecure line and a lost travel receipt were the last pieces of the puzzle. They found the location of a command base deep in the South American jungle, SHIELD has bigger fish to fry and Clint has spent three weeks watching the same four tropical birds fighting over a branch.

Granted he’s also done a fair amount of actual work. He’s been watching for patterns, schedules and movements while the ground team have, with the aid of some of Tony’s more experimental tech been listening in on the camp’s residents. Coulson has long since bullied him into radio silence, after a string of attempts to entertain himself by calling in joke shipments. He doesn’t need to be psychic to foresee a long session locked in Coulson’s office in his near future, amending the report to omit his ‘embellishments’. He figures the last straw was probably when he called in to report the delivery of several crates of Rainbow Dash action figures. 

He swipes the back of his hands over his forehead and takes another swig from his water canister. It rattles empty and he’s out of spares. 

“Boss, I’m gonna need a restock of water, this heat’s a killer.” He mutters into his comm unit. 

“Alright Barton, you’ve been on ten hours anyway, Forbes can take over.” 

“Down shortly Sir, can I call for ice through room service?”

“Don’t be a baby Barton, it’s not that hot.” 

Clint grins as he resettles his case against his back and swings his leg over the bar of the hide. He finds the first rung of the ladder and eases himself down. His shirt is stuck to his back and he has to run his hand over his face again to stop the sweat running into his eyes. 

Two thirds of the way down he loses his grip entirely and falls from the ladder, winding himself when he twists to land clumsily flat on his back in the undergrowth. Forbes is at his side immediately, pressing a hand to his temple then his neck. 

“Sir, you better get over here,” He hisses, “Barton’s..not well.” 

The last thing he remembers before surrendering himself to a very uncomfortable stretcher journey to where they could safely bundle him off in a helicopter is Coulson handing the sitrep detail over to Agent Dawson. 

“You should stay Sir,” He grits out between bouts of shivering. “Hell, I can stay, I just need..”

“I am overseeing your transfer home Agent, no arguing.”

Clint closes his eyes to shut out the spinning canopy, and everything goes black. 

~*~

Tony is the nearest when JARVIS welcomes them home, opening the elevator doors on the Avenger’s communal floor. Stark takes one look at his face and lurches backwards to press himself flat against the wall. 

“Jesus Coulson, is he contagious!?” 

Coulson braces Clint’s weight further against him and shakes his head. 

“As tempting as it is to lie and watch you quarantine yourself for the next week, no, he’s not contagious.” 

“I have,” Clint squints at the box in his hand, “what are these? Painkillers?” 

“Antibiotics and quinine Barton.” 

“Right! I have antibiotics, it’ll be fine!” 

Steve jogs past Tony to help take Clint’s weight from Coulson, almost lifting him bodily from the floor. 

“Quinine? He has malaria?” Steve says, his voice is taught with worry and Clint pats his arm. 

“I have pills Steve, I’ll be fine!” 

Steve pours him into bed as other worried faces begin to appear in the doorway. He feels like an animal in the zoo, he’d find a place to hide out, somewhere no one could find him until this whole thing blew over if his legs could support his whole weight. 

“He’s been a few days in medical,” Coulson says, handing Steve a file that not even Clint has seen. He makes grabby hands, but they both ignore him. “I’m sorry to have to carry him up here but he refused a wheelchair. I’d have left him there but we all know he’d go crazy in the ward and really he’s been given the all clear for home recovery. I’m under strict instructions not to confine him at the hospital unless he’s actually unconscious.” 

“Given how much havoc he caused last time that’s hardly surprising.” Steve answers, flicking through the file. “We’ll take care of him here, don’t worry.” 

Clint can hear Thor stage whispering hurried questions to Tony in the corridor. He tries to remember if anyone has actually been sick since the Asgardian moved into the tower. He doesn’t think so. Tony has his hand over his mouth and is breathing heavily through his nose. 

“He’s not contagious Stark.” Coulson says again, sounding eerily weary. “He has malaria and some kind of underlying bacterial infection but he’s heavily medicated and it’ll clear up in a few days.” He turns to Steve and taps the folder in his hands. “Make sure he gets plenty of fluids, I’ve paged Dr Banner, let me know if he gets worse..or more obnoxious.” 

“Yes Sir.” Steve says. His eyes dart around the room as Coulson retreats, squeezing past Tony. Clint realises that Steve has never been in his room before. 

“Uh, welcome. I guess.” He says, he tries to make an all-encompassing gesture of welcomeness, but he lets his arm fall heavily back down beside him. 

“Tony?” Steve says as he sinks to sit on the edge of Clint’s bed. “Could you call Natasha, let her know Clint is home and he’s sick. Thor, could you fetch me a pitcher of water and a glass?”

“She’s not going to react well.” Clint warns, and Steve waves him off. 

“I’m sure she’ll be as worried as we all are.” Steve says dismissively. 

Thor doesn’t take long and in moments, there’s a cool glass of iced water in his hand while Steve tugs off his boots. Steve shoos everyone out, insisting he’ll take care of everything. 

“You’re gonna take care of me Cap?” Clint says, he intends to to come out flirty, but his voice is so croaky and rough that it just comes across as needy. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere OK?” Steve says, pulling down the blind to shade the room. “You want me to help you get into something more comfortable?” 

Everything in Clint’s mind is bouncing at the potential for innuendo, but he can’t make it stick, he just wants to be warm and floppy, comfortable for the first time in days. He lets Steve strip him carefully down to his boxers and then sighing happily he wriggles into flannel TMNT pyjama pants. Steve tosses him a clean tshirt and helps him slide under the sheets. He takes a few sips of water and he actually isn’t hit with a wave of nausea. It’s refreshing in more ways than one.

“Dr Banner is on his way to your room Sir, shall I let him in?” JARVIS says, there’s a soft knock a moment later. 

“Sure, JARVIS, let him in.” Clint says. 

Bruce actually manages to sidle into the room apologetically, like he has no right to be there. He brightens when he sees Clint though and he hefts a heavy looking leather bag onto the chair beside the bed. 

“It’s good to see you back.” He says, digging around before producing a thermometer with a flourish. “I went through Agent Coulson’s notes and the transfer from medical, you were pretty unlucky huh?” 

Clint shrugs and it makes his shoulders ache with the effort. The thermometer is thankfully the kind you place under the tongue and he watches Bruce take notes as he waits for the results. When he takes the thermometer back he shakes it, despite the facts that it’s digital. 

“JARVIS, make a note, Clint’s temperature is currently 38.7, I expect to take a new measurement every three to five hours.” 

“Duly noted Sir, would you like an alarm?”

“Uh, yeah, maybe that would be best.” 

Bruce checks everything the medical staff at the hospital did, his pupils, his skin, his gums, even pressing little marks onto the back of his hand to watch the blood flush back into the white space left behind. It feels familiar, easy in a way that the hospital never does. 

“And I had it on good authority you were a notoriously bad patient.” Bruce says and laughs when Clint rolls his eyes. 

“I guess I like you.” Clint says. 

“Well, I’ll be back in a few hours. If you feel like you need to sleep, don’t fight it ok? Cap, make sure he drinks plenty and his next pills are due at four.” 

“Understood Doctor.” Steve says before scooting up the bed to prop himself up with pillows. Clint finds himself drawn into Steve’s side, resting his head on Steve’s chest. 

“I’m not usually a cuddler.” He protests. Steve smells of soap and detergent and everything that was missing in the jungle, it’s tough not to just rub his face all over him. 

“That’s bull Barton and we both know it.” Steve says, but his tone is anything but angry. “JARVIS, can you pull up something on TV, cartoons or something?”

“Should I compose a playlist based on Mr Barton’s usual viewing habits?” Jarvis asks.

“Keep it PG-13 though eh?” Clint says sleepily, already fighting to keep his eyes open. Steve makes him take a couple of sips more water before there’s a strong arm around his shoulders and he lets himself drift off.

~*~

When he wakes Natasha is glaring at him.

“Hello.” He croaks. There isn’t an answer but he wasn’t really expecting one. “So, I uh, got bitten by something, guess I’m sick.” 

More glaring.

“OK, well, I promise you don’t need to take care of me, I swear, I’m gonna be fine.” 

He’s flooded with relief when Bruce knocks, bringing all manner of distractions. Natasha watches him work, scowling at the announced temperature and drawing her knees up to her chest in the armchair to let Bruce work around her. She looks exhausted. 

She has fallen asleep by the time Steve returns, he glances at her, but makes no move to wake her up. It’s a wise move, super soldier serum or no, even Clint’s never been foolish enough to attempt that without potentially fatal threats closing in. Once he’d even let an enemy force storm the building they were holed up in before he tried waking her, it didn’t go all that well for them. 

Clint takes a glass from Steve, taking small sips of juice before attempting the toast. 

“Captain America, in my bedroom.” He says, “every boy’s fantasy.” 

Steve smiles. “Not mine.” 

“That’s just..huh.” Clint actually doesn’t have an answer for that, he grins into his glass in the hopes of avoiding Steve’s perfect poker face. 

“Has Natasha been here long?”

“A few hours, she hasn’t moved.”

At the sound of their voices she stirs, rolling her neck to work out the crick from sleeping in an odd position. Steve smiles almost shyly at her as he takes the plate from Clint and places it gingerly on the bedside table. 

“I’m not stepping on your toes here am I?” He says.

“Natasha’s not really the ‘nurse you back to health’ type.” Clint offers, “last time I was ‘sick’ she hit me really hard on the head.” 

“That wasn’t exactly..” 

Clint waves his hand to stall the objections on the tip of Steve’s tongue. Natasha shrugs and stands, brushing the back of her hand quickly over Clint’s forehead before turning to leave. 

“You boys have fun.” She says as she reaches the door, then adds “welcome home.”

Steve is silent for a long moment. Clint almost feels sorry for the way he looks lost, more than a little confused. 

“Sickness is a vulnerability.” He says, he’s not sure he can explain this, not to Steve who would take a bullet for any one of them. It doesn’t stop him from trying. “I’m weak when I’m sick, human.” 

“We’re all human..” 

“Not like this, she can’t compromise herself by..” He struggles to find the right way to phrase everything that makes Natasha who she is. Why she can’t let her guard down, why immersing herself in other’s weakness only draws out her own. Steve puts a hand on his arm and he falls silent. 

“I think..God, how does she live like that?”

Clint knows Steve will come to understand eventually, just as he did. “Well,” he offers, “You’ll notice she didn’t leave me alone.” 

It’s as much as he can do for now, and he hauls himself further up the bed, smiling apologetically. He’s not feverish, but Bruce has warned it may return by the end of the day. There had been a diagram on one of Bruce’s StarkPads, it looked impressively thorough. 

“Oh, I got you something.” Steve says. He grabs a paper groceries bag from beside the bed and pulls out a small plushy Hawkeye. 

Clint nearly chokes. “Oh my god! Where did you find this? They make these now?” He makes a grab for it and Steve hold it out for him. The bow is tacky, made of cheap plastic, but the doll itself is kinda cute, overlarge features scowling at an unseen assailant. 

“I thought maybe it could protect you while you were sick.” There’s the tiniest smile playing at the corners of Steve’s mouth, like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or run and hide. Before he can pick the latter Clint has his hands fisted in the loose fabric of Steve’s shirt and is pulling him forwards into a crushing kiss. 

Steve goes tense and for a split second Clint is terrified that he’s somehow read everything wrong, that’s he’s blurred the lines too much between fantasy and reality. But it must just have been unexpected shock because suddenly Steve’s right there with him, cupping his chin and deepening the kiss, dragging their tongues together as though challenging himself to deny the action. 

When they pull apart Clint’s more than a little breathless. “Wow.” He breathes. 

“Oh God, sorry, I shouldn’t have, you’re sick!” 

“Hey, you know I’m not contagious.” He says, laughing.

“No, I mean, I shouldn’t be taking advantage of your..”

Clint stays silent, but he does raise one eyebrow. 

“You kissed _me_ huh.” Steve says after a moment.

“Yeah, little bit.” 

“Sorry,” Steve swallows. “I’ve been wanting that for a while, and I assumed..it was so fast..I really didn’t take advantage of anything did I?”

“No, but I’m starting to wish you had.” Clint says. 

Steve folds the paper bag in his hands and grins. “Well, good, then there’s that.” 

He pulls himself up the bed again into what is fast becoming his customary position next to Clint. This time there’s a touch of possessiveness in the way that Steve’s arm sneaks around his shoulders to pull him in close. Jarvis resumes ‘The Incredibles’ from where they left off watching it the night before. Clint suppresses a shiver of arousal when Steve bends to press a kiss to the crown of his head. He’s in no shape for any of that.

~*~

He swims back into consciousness around sunset, he’s alone, which is a small novelty. JARVIS informs him that Bruce is in his lab but everyone else is in the kitchen. 

He swings his legs out over the side of the bed and wills himself to stand steadily. It only takes two attempts to haul himself upright but he finds that once he’s there he’s actually a lot stronger than he assumed. He even managed a trip to his bathroom unaided, although JARVIS does warn that at the slightest wobble he’ll summon one of the others. 

JARVIS actually congratulates him when he emerges from the bathroom unscathed. He does a little victory wiggle dance, just because he’s alone and he’s pretty sure JARVIS won’t tell. 

He contemplates his slippers, but when he steps out on to the cool tile of the corridor it feels so good on his bare feet that he decides to leave it, he leans back into the room to ask JARVIS to turn the lights off and spots the little Hawkeye doll perched above his bedstead. There’s now a little Captain America plushy sat next to it. 

When he pads into the kitchen there’s mixed reactions. Tony offers him a beer without batting an eyelid, the suggestion is quickly shot down by Steve, who tells him off for being out of bed at all. 

“Welcome back to the fold!” Thor says, a huge grin plastered on his face. He gestures at the TV and raises a glass to Clint. “We are watching a competition of minds!” 

Clint glances at the game show before accepting Steve’s insistence that he sit down _at once_. He lets Natasha pull him down onto the sofa beside her where she curls up into his side and brushes the hair from his face. 

“You smell sick.” She says. He knows she’s right, but he’s too tired to feel self conscious about it. 

“I’m sorry, I’m gross.” He murmurs into her hair. 

She shakes her head and brushes a kiss to his temple. “Not gross, just..sick, not you.” 

Tony clatters about in the kitchen before producing a grilled cheese sandwich with a flourish. It’s probably the nicest thing Tony has done for him that wasn’t directly related to life or death situations or weaponry. He manages three quarters of it before having to admit defeat. Natasha polishes off the remainder without a word. 

He makes it to the end of the game show, but he can already feel the need to be horizontal again when the host waves a toothy farewell to the audience. He lets Steve guide him back to the bedroom and help him crawl under the covers. 

“Will you stay?” He says into Steve’s shoulder. He’s rewarded with the reassuring weight of Steve laying down beside him. 

They tell each other stories in the dark. Steve talks about what growing up in the 40’s was like, how his mother’s apple pie had tasted and memories of listening to his father’s radio. Clint talks about the circus, what it was like to always be on the move, or performing for an audience, what it felt like to shoot a bow in the ring for the first time. 

They’re nose to nose on the pillows when Steve kisses him again, slow and tender. Clint lets him take his time, exploring the contours of his lips, brushing light fingers over his stubble. 

“Have you ever kissed a man before?” He whispers. 

“Never.” 

He encourages Steve to let his hands roam free. They touch the edges of scars on Clint’s chest and he confesses their origins, as far as he can. Broken bottles, bullets, several others that Steve traces but Clint can’t bring himself to explain yet. Natasha knows those stories, picked up the pieces when she found him, still bound. She had killed the men who marred him so, and he had never been so in love with her. 

Clint scars in a way that Steve never can, and Clint lets him map out traces with his fingers. He pushes at the waistband of his pants to let Steve follow the line of the knife wound on his hip. There is only the faintest hesitation, but they are cocooned here in the sheets, no light, no interruptions. It makes Steve bold and Clint’s breath stutters when fingers travel through the downy hair on his belly and down to encircle his cock.

His hands are big, masculine and hold none of the delicacy of Natasha’s deft touch. Clint murmurs encouragement as Steve lets his instincts take over. Clint hooks one arm around Steve’s neck and they kiss, Clint rolling his hips slowly off the bed to meet Steve’s strokes. It’s lazy, a slow burn. With his free hand he mimics Steve’s exploration of his body, finding no scars, only smooth planes of muscle, so much stronger than his. He alights his fingers on Steve’s own hardness and simply presses down over the head, feeling wetness seep through cotton. 

Fuck, but it’s been ages since he wanted a man like this. 

“When I’m all recovered,” He whispers, “When I’m strong again, I’m gonna show you just how good this can be.” 

He presses open mouthed kisses to the line of Steve’s throat and tucks his hand under the waistline of his boxers. For the first time he has the chance to feel Steve flex and strain in his hand. He lets his calloused palm drag wetly against the tip and Steve groans into his hair. 

“As strong as Natasha is,” Clint continues, “As much as she can hold up against, I am stronger than she is, I can take more.” 

Steve bucks up into his hand and increases the speed of his strokes making Clint gasp ragged. 

“Tell me what you like.” Steve hisses, he pulls away from Clint and kneels up, nudging Clint’s legs apart and settling himself between them. He bends to drag his tongue along Clint’s inner thigh and Clint feels his brain melt just a little more. 

“I like it rough.” Clint swallows as Steve edges closer, hot breath passing over his balls. 

Steve _growls_ and raises a hand to touch Clint again, this time less gentle. He pulls Clint’s length towards him, creating delicious tension and copies Clint’s action, allowing Clint to rut against his palm on the upstroke. 

Clint knows the noises he’s making are obscene. He may even be begging, he has no idea. All he can feel is the heat rolling off Steve’s body and the burning ache of his climax building. 

It’s almost too much when Steve bends right over him to capture another kiss and he feels the wet-hot pressure of Steve’s cock brushing up against his own. He moans into Steve’s mouth and they hold themselves there for a moment. Relishing the sensation. 

His heart nearly stops when the door to his room clicks open, but a second later he’s breathing back into Steve’s mouth when he realises the only person JARVIS doesn’t announce is Natasha. Even Steve barely seems surprised when she trails her hands along his spine. 

“JARVIS.” She says softly, “Bring up the lights a little.” 

In the soft light Clint knows what they must look like, him flushed with the remnants of fever, Steve pink with exertion and arousal. He throws a dopey grin in her direction. 

“He’s so good with his hands.” He breathes. 

“Oh boys.” Natasha says, “I only stopped in to check on Clint.” 

Clint lifts his head from the pillow to throw her a thumbs up before letting it thunk back down. He can feel himself getting close, and he reaches out to touch Steve. 

“No, don’t.” Steve pants, “Don’t exert yourself.” 

Clint laughs aloud at the irony of it, but he does as he’s told, letting Steve push him to the brink and over, gasping and moaning as he comes hot and slick on his stomach, spilling over Steve’s fingers. 

Steve is already beckoning to Natasha, offering his hand for her to clean. She makes a show of it, climbing naked into Steve’s lap. They fuck like that, lazy and languid, Steve circling her waist and holding her to him as she dips backwards, arching her back. 

Clint lets Steve pull him up to sitting, where he drapes himself over Steve’s back, biting at the tendons of his neck and resting his hands on Natasha’s thighs. He feels it when she begins to tense in regular movements, pushing herself towards orgasm. Steve responds and picks up his pace, turning to kiss Clint before tangling a hand in Natasha’s hair, pulling her head back and slamming upwards, rough and uncompromising. She swears in Russian and grasps at Steve’s shoulders, Clint’s hands before they both crash over the edge, Steve answering her wordless cry with his own. 

~*~

He doesn’t remember which one of them hands him a damp towel before helping him into clean pants. He relishes the heat of two warm bodies pressed against him and silently mouths thanks to Pepper for installing huge beds in all these suites. He smiles when Natasha re-seats the two plushies under the lamp on the bedside table, where they are less likely to get knocked over. Steve pulls her in to him for a kiss as she returns them to darkness. 

He wakes alone in the morning, but from down the hall there’s laughing and the clatter of pans in the kitchen. He glances over at the clock and his eyes rest on the little dolls. There’s three of them now, Black Widow leaning up against Hawkeye’s other side. 

He has no idea which one of them bought it, and he doesn’t care.


End file.
